


Tread lightly

by Havokftw



Series: A penny for your thoughts. Five bucks if they're dirty. [4]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Decisions, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Camboy Jihoon, Cameras, Daddy Kink, Desk Sex, Dick Pics, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Lingerie, M/M, Mullets, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sugar Daddy, bad hair day, businessman Seungcheol, sugar Baby Lee Jihoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 14:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havokftw/pseuds/Havokftw
Summary: There’s $2345 dollars in his account.That’s $2000 dollars more than he had a minute ago.Seungcheol just paid him $2000 dollars to be his sugar-baby. A week.That can’t be right. There’s got to be some kind of mistake here. Either Seungcheol made a mistake and added an extra zero to the sum he intended, or his bank account is lying to him again. It does that sometimes.





	Tread lightly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Okobogee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okobogee/gifts).



> NSFW pictures and a mullet ahead. You have been warned.  
> Birthday gift for Satu. Sorry it's late buddy!
> 
> 'O-oh gee mistew handsome Seungcheol.' XD

Jihoon wakes up feeling amazing, which is pretty unusual for a Monday morning.

He nuzzles into the amazingly soft pillow under his cheek, not sure how his lumpy dorm bed has transformed overnight into a feathery den of miraculous comfort, but he’ll take it.

He drifts out of sleep, then back into it, a wave lapping lazily at consciousness.

Things start to trickle in—the absence of Dokyeom’s snoring, the bright slide of daylight, the warm solid heat against his back. He tries to hold on to some of it, to grip into wakefulness, but it’s a tough thing to manage when Jihoon has, very seriously, never been so comfortable in his life.

A warm palm slides across his stomach, catching his attention. A muscled forearm curling around his waist and pulling him back, a scent that’s earthy and masculine but pleasant.

That’s when things start to add up—the arm, the warmth, the bizarrely comfortable bed.

Jihoon isn’t in his dorm. He’s—

“Hmm—dumpling. You smell amazing in the morning. I could eat you all over again.”

 _Seungcheol_.

It’s Seungcheol’ voice. And that means Jihoon—

“Fuck _,_ ” Jihoon mutters under his breath, digging out from the plush comforter. Jihoon must have slept in. The clock blinking at him from the bedside table agrees. He  _never_ —he has no idea how—he  _never_ sleeps late, it’s just not—

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asks, scrubbing a hand over his face and sitting up.

“Gotta go, got class at nine am.” Jihoon says, struggling upright out of the covers.

Seungcheol turns to checks the clock. “But it’s only seven.”

Jihoon stops scooting to the edge of the bed to look at him.

He should be gone by now. He has no idea why Seungcheol hasn’t kicked him out yet, unless Seungcheol was planning to take Jihoon again, which—considering what they spent the weekend doing—is not surprising, and Jihoon is absolutely up for more sex.  

He just doesn’t see a reason why Seungcheol couldn’t have woken him up for that a long time ago, instead of letting Jihoon sleep in like this.

He knows that Seungcheol is paying, _technically_ , for him to stay around and be his sugar-baby—but Jihoon figured he’d be rushed out first thing in the morning, probably by a butler or a personal assistant or whoever it is that cleans up the Jihoon-sized indiscretions of the very rich.

He expected that until Seungcheol wanted him again, he wouldn’t be welcome to just linger in the mans bed—like they’re lovers or something.

“I need to make it across town for my first lecture.” He mumbles, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Seungcheol snorts and grabs his wrist, tugging him back into bed. “Sleep for another hour. I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.” Jihoon blurts out in surprise. "By which I mean you totally don't have to," He amends, when he realises the first thing out of his mouth might have sounded horrified and ungrateful.

Seungcheol snorts again.

“There’s a shuttle bus leaving from the lobby at 7.30, I was planning on getting it anyway. It drops me off pretty close to campus. I wasn’t expecting a lift and the campus gets-“

“You’re so organised.” Seungcheol says, which completely derails Jihoon’s babbling, possibly on purpose. “But, what kind of sugar-daddy would I be if I let you get a bus across town this early in the morning?”

Jihoon blinks. “It’s okay-“

“You haven’t even had breakfast yet, dumpling. C’mon, sleep a little longer.” Seungcheol mumbles, tucking Jihoon back into the bend of his arm.

After a minute, he rolls over and curls around him, sliding a knee between Jihoon’s thighs. It does something warm and fluttery to Jihoon’s insides.

In the small chinks of silence before Jihoon drifts off again, he can hear the in-and-out of Seungcheol's breath.

It’s so easy to pretend this is something completely other than what it is.

If Jihoon wants to be monumentally stupid and ridiculous, which he absolutely doesn't.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes again, Seungcheol’s side of the bed is empty.

Seungcheol is in the ensuite bathroom, talking on the phone and shaving, it sounds like, from the faint motorized hum Jihoon hears through the half-open door. 

“Of course, he’s annoyed Gyu. We gutted his company—he’s lost millions. What did you expect… think he’d send us a basket of complimentary mini muffins?” Seungcheol tells his caller.

“What? No—I’m not bringing you mini muffins, I was just making a point.” He snaps. Then, “I don’t care if you’re craving them now. Can we get back to the reason you _called_?”

Jihoon can’t help notice how different he sounds, in business mode.

Jihoon probably shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but there is nothing for him to do but sit there and wait for Seungcheol to finish. Besides, all of his clothes are in the bathroom, so he can’t even busy himself with getting dressed.

“Yes, okay—eight pm is fine. But it’s not going to change anything—you need to get that across to him.”

There is a pause, and then Seungcheol laughs. “Alright, I’ll bring you a muffin.”

Seungcheol hangs up, or Jihoon thinks he does—the only sound he hears now is the electric whine of the razor. The conversation didn’t make any sense to him.

It strikes Jihoon just how foreign all of this is—waking up in someone else’s bed, hearing them shower and shave and laugh in the next room. It’s not a picture he’s ever been a part of, some domestic scene. Jihoon has no compass for it.

When Seungcheol strolls out of the bathroom, he is shaved, showered, dressed, impeccable.

Jihoon tries not to feel self-conscious; he probably looks like he’s been mauled by some wild animal, his hair splayed out in fifty directions. He’s still wearing one of Seungcheol’s T-shirt that’s creased to hell now, but Seungcheol smiles at him like—like he’s basket of mini muffins possibly.

“Good morning gorgeous, you want some breakfast before we head out?”

Jihoon smiles and scoots to the edge of the bed. He is a little uneven on his feet, both from the sudden standing up and the sex-sore muscles, but he follows Seungcheol to the main area of the suite all the same.

“Is there any coffee,” Jihoon dares to ask, “because I would do unspeakable things for—”

“As much as I’d love to hear the end of that sentence, let me put you out of your misery straightaway.” Seungcheol chuckles.

He walks Jihoon over to the dining table, which is set with a half-dozen silver trays. He lifts the covers off of each of them, revealing a spread of fresh fruit, French pastries, eggs, waffles, pancakes, toast, bacon, yogurt, and a magnificent platter of hot coffee and tea.

“I didn’t know what you like to eat in the morning, so I ordered one of each on the menu.” Seungcheol says, like that’s a completely normal thing to do.

“Holy shit.” Jihoon stares slack jawed at the table for a minute.

Part of him is so grateful, the other part wants to point out how this is such a waste of food!

There’s more food on the table than Jihoon and Dokyeom go through in a _week_ , and he wonders absently if Seungcheol wouldn’t mind him taking some of this spread back to share with Dokyeom later.

He feels a little guilty tucking into this feast when poor Dokyeom had to have his cereal with water the other day, because Jihoon used up the last of the milk.

“It’s nothing,” Seungcheol adds breezily, like it really isn’t. “Sit down, eat something. I spoke to my bank this morning. I’ve transferred your allowance for this week into your account, so you should have some money wired in later today.”

“What? Already?” Jihoon asks, pouring himself coffee and pulling apart a croissant.

“We have an agreement, remember?” Seungcheol says, plopping walnuts into his yogurt. “I’ve kept you here all weekend Jihoon, so I have to compensate you for missing out on your usual Friday evening broadcast.” He explains, sounding _far_ too pleased with himself.

“It’s cool. I was planning on moving the streaming to Thursday’s anyway.” Jihoon says, sitting back and biting into a strip of bacon.

“Huh.” Seungcheol tips his head down, expression strangely and suddenly focused. “What if I wanted to see you on Thursdays?”

“I can move it to Tuesday.” Jihoon says, wrestling down a smile. He can see where this is heading. “Or even do two broadcasts on Monday.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes, deepens his smirk. “What if I wanted to see you then too?”

Despite all of his attempts to stop it, Jihoon smiles anyway. He swallows down a scalding mouthful of coffee to hide the fact. “Is that your plan? Are you thinking of trying to keep me preoccupied throughout the week, too exhausted to do the camboy work?”

“Not at all.” Seungcheol says, looking mildly affronted for the briefest moment. He leans forward, one hand resting on the table, his smirk melting into something else. “Just out of interest—if I did, would you..”

“ _No_.” Jihoon is quick to answer.

“Thought as much.” Seungcheol says, straightening up and tossing a walnut into his mouth.

“That’s cute—how jealous you are.” Jihoon smirks, gulping down a mouthful of coffee and standing to reach the piece of toast. “Tell me, are you this possessive about all your _toys_?” He drawls.

He’s distracted enough by the selection of jams and marmalades on the platter that he doesn’t notice Seungcheol circling behind him until strong hands settle on his waist.

Seungcheol's grip is strong and gentle; caging and reassuring all at once. Jihoon can smell his cologne, something subtle and expensive—can feel the warmth of him along his back where he’s pressed up so close, breathing into the side of Jihoon’s throat.

Seungcheol’s stubble rasps against Jihoon’s cheek, lips brushing the lobe of his ear.

“You are not a _toy_.” Seungcheol murmurs against the edge of his cheek, and it's soft, it's so very soft.

Jihoon feels something thrum under his skin. He can’t place it as apprehension or excitement.

Jihoon stares at the hand on his waist, at the shirt he’s wearing, at the breakfast spread out in front of him— _every fucking thing on the menu_ —and thinks about being allowed to sleep in so late, about ridiculously expensive cars and offers to drive him to college, about how Seungcheol never touched him without permission, about how he’s not allowed to date.

He swallows wrong and coughs.

“I’m going to go shower again before we leave.” Jihoon says, heedless of the slight catch in his voice.

“Try not to have too much fun in there this time. If I’m jealous of anything, it’s the noises you make in that shower.” Seungcheol calls after him.

* * *

 

Jihoon appreciates the fact that Seungkwan said he'd only be a few minutes late. But lunch waits for no man. So Jihoon has already made a considerable dent in his own, by the time Seungkwan fills the seat in front of him.

He looks like he ran the whole way to the canteen, practically vibrating with thoughts he has to share.

Jihoon doesn't think it's important enough to stop eating.

There's a very short list of things which rank above delicious foodstuffs, and probably nothing Seungkwan will say can compete.

“So—I heard Daddy dropped you off this morning. I’ve been fielding questions from people all morning about the sweet ass car you arrived in.” Seungkwan opens with. Which isn't quite important enough to stop eating. Though Jihoon is annoyed enough to stop chewing for a second.

“Don’t call him that.” Jihoon mumbles, mouth full of food.  

There’s a flicker of surprise on Seungkwan’s face, but it quickly turns into a frown. “Isn’t that what you call him?”

Jihoon makes a rude noise around his mouthful and shrugs. “Yeah—but I get to, you don’t. You make it sound _weird_.”

“Newsflash, Jihoon— _it is_ weird.” Seungkwan counters.

“Newsflash, Seungkwan, it’s none of your business.” Jihoon answer, getting a healthy amount of annoyance into the words, and crumbs.

Seungkwan reels back out of the crumb firing range with disgust.

“I’m just concerned with how out of character this is for you. Prancing around some guy’s hotel room, acting sweet and shy and calling him _big_ _daddy_.”

Jihoon takes the opportunity to half fill his mouth - only half, so he can still talk and eat at the same time. “Actually, he doesn’t want any of that. The daddy thing is my idea really. Seungcheol just wants me to be me.”

Seungkwan squints at him like he’s smelling something suspicious. “Camboy you, or you-you?”

“Me—me. He doesn’t want any act, any bullshit. He said he liked me for me.” Jihoon tells him, thumbing away a crumb at the corner of his mouth.

Seungkwan gives him a flat, serious look, as if he can't believe Seungcheol had said that, and that Jihoon was naïve enough to believe it.

Jihoon sighs, putting what's left of his sandwich down and reaching into his back pack for his juice. “Why can’t you be the kind of friend that’s silently supportive to my face, then judges me secretly behind my back? I like those kind of friends. _They_ make me feel good.”

“Hey—I was supportive of the camboy thing-“

“ _Supportive_.” Jihoon snorts, stabbing his straw into his juice. Seungkwan obviously remembers that _particular_ conversation a little differently.

“—I just don’t know why you want to do this.” Seungkwan continues over him. “It sounds like a demeaning third job, and you’re already pretty stretched with your extra-curricular activities.”

Jihoon pauses with the straw halfway to his mouth. “It’s not a job. And it’s not demeaning. I’m enjoying myself and getting paid—and sleeping with a really hot older guy. If it is a job—it’s like the best job ever.”

Seungkwan shakes his head, holds a hand up. “But Jeonghan said you have a contract with this guy now. A contract sounds like serious work shit.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “It’s not like that. I didn’t _sign_ anything. We just set some ground rules, and I didn’t agree to anything I didn’t want.”

Seungkwan’s smelling something suspicious again. “What kind of rules?”

“Basic rules, like how I have to focus on my studies sometimes and how I control what I wear. I was pretty clear about keeping my job at the coffee shop and the camboy work, he was really reasonable.”

Jihoon drinks half his juice carton while Seungkwan mulls that over.

“What did he ask for then?” He asks slowly.

“Nothing outrageous. Just to see me regularly to help him unwind,” Jihoon picks up what’s left of his sandwich, tries to look causal and not phased when he says, “and not to date anybody.”

“What?” Seungkwan gasps.

Jihoon stays hidden behind his sandwich half because he's pretty sure Seungkwan's confusion and horrified affront isn't over yet. “He doesn’t want me to date. It was his only rule, and he was pretty insistent about it.”

Seungkwan squints at him, to check if he's serious. “He can’t ask you not to date—that’s controlling.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I was dating anyone anyway. The last date I had was that one you set me up on months ago—and we all know how _well_ that went.” Jihoon says, injecting just enough snark to make it sound like sarcasm instead of frustration.

Seungkwan doesn't look reassured, in fact if anything Seungkwan looks even less happy now, and seriously, any more motherly concern and squinting and his face is going to turn itself inside out.

“But, _Jihoonie_ —,” He begins desperately. “Any prospective long-term relationships will be on hold while you’re entertaining this guy for however long this thing lasts. Yeah, the last few dates you had were pretty crummy, but don’t you think it’s nice to have the choice? To get a chance at normal dating experience in college? And it’s not like this guy’s going to be holding himself back on your account. He’s probably out there dating other people.”

Jihoon pauses mid bite into the sandwich, because,  _no_ , he hadn’t thought about any of that.

Seungkwan may have a point there.

This is why, as annoying as he can be, Seungkwan gets a say in his life, because sometimes he thinks about the things that Jihoon _misses_.

“Yeah. I—I know.” Jihoon stumbles, feeling completely out of his depth.

When he dares to look at Seungkwan again, Seungkwan’s eyes are filled with pity. Jihoon fucking hates pity.

“Oh, _Jihoonie_ ,” Seungkwan starts, looking at him as though he is impossibly young, “You _do_ realise this isn’t a forever thing Jihoon. However nice this guy seems, he’s not prince charming. He’s not going to settle down with you. Please tell me you know that.”

Jihoon screws up the rest of his sandwich in its wrapper, suddenly losing his appetite.

“I know that Boo. I’m not stupid.” Jihoon says, and his conviction sounds as weak as his voice.

Reality is ugly, but he excepts that whatever this thing is with Seungcheol, it’s temporary. Sooner or later, Seungcheol’s going to move on and settle down and Jihoon’s…..Jihoon’s not going to be his sugar-baby anymore.

“I hope he’s paying you well at least.” Seungkwan drawls, finally tucking into his lunch.

“We discussed an allowance, but I really didn’t know what to ask for, so he said he’d put a reasonable amount in my account. I haven’t got around to checking it yet.” Jihoon says honestly.

Seungkwan actually looks physically pained, face all scrunched up, and it's been a while since Jihoon had seen that face show up. The last time was when Jihoon told him about the camboy gig.

“Oh god, Jihoonie. I thought with the camboy thing—you’d be more business minded about this. You can’t leave it up to _him_ to decide, he’s going to take advantage of you.” Seungkwan says, in a tone that clearly adds  _you idiot_  at the end of the sentence.

“Seungcheol wouldn’t do that to me.” Jihoon argues.

That gets him the patented 'You can’t be serious' face of sideways-ness.

Thankfully, his phone saves him from a moment of terrible awkwardness he can feel coming, and he squirms about in the seat, until he can drag it out of his pocket. There's a text from his checking account informing him of a recently made deposit.

He scrolls through his phone to the banking app and logs in, then abruptly stops breathing.

There’s $2345 dollars in his account.

That’s $2000 dollars more than he had a minute ago.

Seungcheol just paid him $2000 dollars to be his sugar-baby. A _week_.

That can’t be right. There’s got to be some kind of mistake here. Either Seungcheol made a mistake and added an extra zero to the sum he intended, or his bank account is _lying_ to him again. It does that sometimes.

Jihoon exhales, and shakes his head, then reads it again. Just to be sure.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Seungkwan says, eyebrow rising sharp.

“I—money, help.” Jihoon croaks, feeling his throat dry up.  _Two thousand goddamn dollars._

Seungkwan scoots closer and leans over his shoulder to peek at his phone. His eyes widen comically. “Woah—two thousand a month! I take it back—daddy did good.”

Jihoon doesn’t have the wherewithal to point out it’s actually a weekly payment set up. He swipes his phone shut and fumbles it back into his pocket.

“So,” Seungkwan starts, abandoning his lunch to stare at Jihoon beseechingly. “Does daddy have friends?”

* * *

 

Seungcheol stops by at the coffee shop when he’s working late one evening, in need of a caffeine fix. When he pushes through the glass door, the place is empty except for the two baristas behind the counter.

One of them is juggling sugar packets in the air, and the other is Jeonghan, who raises an eyebrow as Seungcheol approaches the counter.

“Jihoon is not here.” Jeonghan cuts in quickly before Seungcheol can open his mouth.

The guy seems to have a problem with over-enunciation, and not in a good way. Someone should bring that up at some point because that _can’t_ be great for customer service.

“Uh—I know. But I was under the impression this was a coffee shop—where people could also buy coffee and perhaps be allowed to drink it. And maybe not get chased out with a broom?” Seungcheol offers cheerfully, which succeeds in mollifying Jeonghan for all of one second.

“Sorry—I just associate your face with him now.” Jeonghan mutters, then just stares at him for a long, uncomfortable minute, arms crossed.

“Large cappuccino, three extra shots, to go. _Please_.” says Seungcheol, because it doesn’t look like Jeonghan plans to ask for his order anytime this century.  

Jeonghan pauses as he reaches for a cup.  “That’s a lot of caffeine for 8pm.”

Seungcheol shrugs, “I’m working late.”

“Alright then. Name?”

Seungcheol looks pointedly around the cafe. “I am literally the only person here.”

Jeonghan shrugs feebly. “Yes, well. You never know when the evening rush might arrive. Wouldn’t want to mix up the orders.”

“Is that something you get? An _evening_ rush for coffee.” Seungcheol offers dryly.

He’ll admit he’s not doing himself any favours here.

Jeonghan glares at him and sets the cup down firmly. It’s empty, so the action makes a hollow, papery sound, which isn’t very impressive, but— _anyway_.

“I’ll just put ‘Seungcheol’ down, shall I?” Jeonghan spits.

Seungcheol nods and Jeonghan scrawls something on the paper cup that looks nothing like the order he just made, and more like a doodle of a penis.

He takes Seungcheol’s money, pops it into the register, then hands the cup to his sugar sachet juggling colleague to finish the order.

Seungcheol’s about to step off to the side, but Jeonghan speaks up again.

“Just thought I’d say—I thought it was very decent of you to make Jihoon contact us the other day. Not a lot of guys would have thought to do that, or cared even, but you did and we appreciated it.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know how to react, but Jeonghan doesn’t seem to expect him to.

“Jihoon’s like a little brother to me, like a little brother to all of us actually, so you can imagine how freaked out we were when he told us where he was. No offence to you—but we immediately thought the worst.”

Seungcheol clears his throat awkwardly. “No, I understand. I was surprised when he said he hadn’t told anyone either. I thought he knew what he was doing, considering the experience he has.”

Jeonghan turns his head down and frowns at him. “The camboy work? That’s very different.”

“Oh? How so?”

Jeonghan sighs. “It might not seem that way, but it is. Being behind the camera allows you complete control of your actions, you’re in charge and there’s a thrill from holding your audience captive. Sugar-babying—that puts you in somebody _else’s_ control. They’re very different. I don’t think Jihoon realises that yet.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Jeonghan nods.

And Seungcheol can see it, kind of. Jeonghan hasn’t got much in the way of an ass, but he’s tall and probably has the legs for it under that coffee stained apron.

“There’s no question of control. I—wouldn’t try and control him. We’ve discussed it and I’m happy for him to do whatever he wants.” Seungcheol tries to assure.

Jeonghan eyes him sceptically. “You say that now, but you might feel differently down the line. Maybe you’ll want to bend and shape him into a mould that suits you, whether it suits him or not.”

He stops, shrugs like he's admitted something he didn't intend to. Though Seungcheol isn't sure what. “Jihoon might be small, but he’s got edges.” Jeonghan says.

“Yeah, he does.” Seungcheol sighs dreamily. “That’s what I like about him.”

Jeonghan gives him a look from beneath his eyebrows, surprised, amused, some strange third option that Seungcheol doesn't know him well enough to puzzle out.

He turns to his colleague, leaning back against the inside counter and says, “How’s that coffee coming along?”

“What coffee?” The guys answers, scratching the back of his head. He wilts slightly under the eyebrow Jeonghan raises at him and jumps into action. “Oh, shit yeah. Sorry.”

“Please, take your time. You’re clearly busy with your other faithful clientele.” Seungcheol gestures to the empty seats. He checks his watch pointedly, puffing out an impatient breath.

No _wonder_ these guys have been recruited into the night shift—what with Jeonghan’s _fantastic_ attitude and this other guy being genetically closer to a moth.

When Seungcheol glances up again, Jeonghan is giving him a strange look.

Seungcheol adjusts his tie uncomfortably, a nervous habit under scrutiny. “Something the matter?”

He doesn’t know what he expects Jeonghan to say, but it’s not, “You can’t be that much older than me. What are you—thirty? Early thirties?”

Seungcheol coughs to clear his throat. “I’ll be thirty in August.”

“ _And you’re not married.”_ Jeonghan drawls, glancing at Seungcheol’s hands. Though he says it like he's pointing it out, noticing it, rather than judging it.

“So?”

Jeonghan gives him a look that proclaims clearly that one of them is being spectacularly slow, and it isn't Jeonghan. “So, you’re wealthy, handsome, single, still young-ish. None of that adds up. Why aren’t you married yet? Why don’t you have a little rich tart on your elbow by now? What are you _hiding_?”

Seungcheol blinks. Is this a conversation that was actually happening?

He’s certain he heard a compliment in there somewhere, but _Jesus_ —there’s a lot of vetting and judgement with coffee ordering these days and very little actual coffee.

“I didn’t realise there was a ‘ _strict’_ criteria I had to adhere to.” Seungcheol parries, a little offended by now.

Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. “Sorry. But you have to admit—you’re a little young to be a sugar-daddy.”

Seungcheol takes a quick glance around the shop; thankfully still empty.

“Can we not call me that?” he says fiercely, through his teeth.

“What? You’d prefer something else?” Jeonghan smirks, fiddling with the stack of paper cups. “What about Candy father? Or perhaps, paternal confectioner?”

In spite of himself, Seungcheol laughs, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. Jeonghan looks at him sidelong.

“Get used to it.” Says Jeonghan, evidently interpreting Seungcheol's silence as a challenge. “That’s what you are. That’s how we all know you. Except Jihoon—he’s got some cutesy sandwich related name for you.”

“Footlong subway?” Seungcheol guesses.

“Yeah—that’s it. What’s up with that?”

Seungcheol just tips his head, tries not to look too smug.

After a few minutes, the other barista returns with a cardboard cup, thrusts it out at Seungcheol with his best customer service grin. “Sorry about the delay, here’s your latte.”

Seungcheol stares down at the latte he _didn’t_ order, and implores for patience. “I didn’t order—you know what. Never mind. Thanks.” He smiles, accepting the cup.

“It’s on the house.” Jeonghan announces with a genial nod, like he’s saved the day.

“I already paid.” Seungcheol points out.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Well, now you don’t have to leave a tip.” He says, almost cheerfully. But he narrows his eyes after a second, adding seriously, “Though heavens _knows_ you can afford to.”

Seungcheol sighs and flips open his wallet, compelled to leave a tip in the jar for exceptionally poor service, customer interrogation and an incorrect order.

Jeonghan gapes at him, disgusted _. “Just ten bucks?_ I’ve seen the car you drive. Isn’t that a Rolex on your wrist?”

 _It’s actually a Patek Phillipe!_ Seungcheol almost jumps in with, but—no, no—Seungcheol’s not going to give this guy anymore ammo. He stops himself from glaring by the slimmest of margins and adds another ten to the tip jar. 

Jeonghan nods, approving. “That’s better. Good chat Richie Rich.”

* * *

 

Jihoon panicked about the money going into his account for an entire month. He’d open the banking app on his phone and stare at the rapidly increasing sum each week, with no clue what to do with it.

Strangely, he feels guilty about spending any of it.

Even though he has groceries and textbooks to buy and _technically_ it’s his to spend, he couldn’t bring himself to spend more than what he used to.

He’s also not sure if Seungcheol wants to know _how_ he’s spending the money either, so keeps dropping hints about the things he’s thinking of doing: casually mentioning a band he wants to get tickets for or a place he wants to eat out at.

Annoyingly, Seungcheol seems to think these are hints to— _give him more money—_ and Jihoon checks his account to find Seungcheol has made an additional payment, usually with a message along the lines of: _‘For those band tickets you wanted—Have fun.’_

For fuck’s sake!

Finally, he makes a promise to himself that he’s going to spend some of it on something he’s always wanted, but could never afford. He thinks about buying a new laptop because his current one is dying a slow death, or maybe a new set of speakers, cool, luxury ones that take up the entirety of his desk.

He browses like a hundred different review sites and compares the quality of _‘Bang &Olufsen’_ vs _‘Harmon Kardon’_ vs _‘Klipsch’_ speakers, and finally settles on—paying off some of him student loans instead.

Oh well. Fantasizing about it is almost as good, anyway.

It’s the responsible thing to do, he knows. But he figures it wouldn’t hurt to spend _some_ of the money on getting his hair done. _Professionally_ this time.

* * *

 

The corner of Minghao’s mouth twists unpleasantly. He looks at the picture on his phone again, then back at Jihoon, then back at the picture.

He looks _pained_.

“Jihoon—are you sure this what you want?”

“Yeah! This is the future of hair, I'm decades before my time, this is so close to the cutting edge of fashion everyone’s going to be _so_ freakin jealous. People are going to stop me in the street and ask me who does my hair, and I’ll be able to say—Minghao, the revolutionist.”

Minghao doesn’t look like he wants the honour of that title. He eyes Jihoon like he's the maddest person in the whole world.

“Listen, the red would suit you for sure, I’m not disagreeing with that. And it will still work when it fades out to a pink. But—a _mullet_? _Seriously_?”

Jihoon pouts. “Well—it’s not _exactly_ a mullet.”

Minghao frowns. “It kind of is Jihoon. Based on the photo ref you sent—it’s a mullet. A _red_ mullet.”

“Minghao—it’s cool. I trust you. And at the end of the day, it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.”

“Erm.” Minghao wrinkles his nose in distaste, but he looks more relaxed nonetheless. “Okay. Just wanted to be sure.”

* * *

 

Jihoon keeps an eye on Minghao’s progress as the new hairstyle develops in stages.

The dye takes time to develop, but after the toner is rinsed out and his hair is blow-dried Jihoon’s happy with the colour. Minghao was right: he does suit red. 

He’s a little too preoccupied replying to a few messages on his phone when Minghao takes the electric razor to his nape, so when the razor stops and Jihoon looks back up…. The style is _not_ half as awesome as he was imagining...hoping for?

“Oh—my god.” Jihoon gasps, though he's aware before the sentence has completely escaped that there's rather too much shock, horror and panic for even Minghao to fail to spot.

“What?” Minghao tenses behind him.

The cut is faithful to the picture he forwarded Minghao the other day—but it sits strangely on the shape of his head. The fringe is [lopsided](https://78.media.tumblr.com/1dd079da9aaea1820a908d1fba5edf8a/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po4_1280.jpg), half of it missing and Jihoon can see his ears from every angle. Jihoon _knows_ , Jihoon has _checked_.

He drags his eyes away and fixes them on the centre of the mirror, above Minghao’s head, but they’re drawn down again. It’s like a train wreck.

It's like modern architecture meets an eighties revival and after a wild drunken party they conceive a hillbilly raspberry coloured love child.

“Uhh. It’s—so awesome.” Jihoon offers finally. He really did try to keep his voice level, but he fears a less than disguisable strain of 'traumatised bystander' crept in.

Minghao’s arms fold in complicated ways until he has his hands balanced on his hips. “You don’t like it, do you? I _knew_ a mullet was a bad idea Jihoon! I can’t _believe_ I agreed to do this!”

“No, no—it’s fine!” Jihoon rushes in to the mullet’s defence, though it doesn’t deserve it. “It’s exactly what I wanted. It’s edgy, and _fun_? I love it. Thank you so much. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Jihoon’s forced grin of optimism is so close to terrifying it's not even funny.

The look Minghao gives him then is penetrating, edging on disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes.” Jihoon says, hoping his facial expression doesn’t betray his inner feelings.

Oh fuck—he didn’t even bring a hat!

* * *

 

When Jihoon arrives back at his dorm, Dokyeom stares at him seriously for a minute, before bursting into laughter.

"Shouldn’t you be out on the highway, collecting roadkill for dinner?" Dokyeom tells him, still chuckling.

“Move.” Jihoon growls.

"No, really," Dokyeom says, standing aside so that Jihoon can drag his sorry ass through the doorway, "When are you going to share your recipe for moonshine, and teach me how to play the banjo?”

“Shut up. It was meant to be edgy.” Jihoon grumbles.

Dokyeom makes an impatient breathy sound, like a token sarcastic laugh.  “You have a mullet. A red mullet. I've honestly never seen you looking so unattractive. It's fascinating."

Jihoon sneers and pushes past him, dropping his bag and padding over to the full-length mirror pinned on the wall.

He thought it might have just been the unflattering and over-bright light in the salon making him look like an extra from the set of ‘Deliverance’—but, no.

Oh, _God_.

The lighting in the salon had actually been _flattering_ compared to [this](https://78.media.tumblr.com/688e6b72e9dbc471c817a0337f571d57/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po3_1280.jpg).

Jihoon feels gloriously, spectacularly sorry for himself.

“ _Dude_. I can see the shape of your head. I can see your little ears! They’re so red when you’re angry—it’s hilarious.” Dokyeom says, through a smile that Jihoon suspects is never going to leave his face while the mullet exists.

Jihoon scowls at him in that special way he has, and he shuts him mouth. He doesn't stop smiling though.

Jihoon turns his scowl back to his [reflection](https://78.media.tumblr.com/0a6af1fd5466d6ada8524226040fcc18/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po2_1280.jpg) in the mirror. It’s not funny, whatever Dokyeom says; Jihoon is actively mourning the loss of those kiss curls at the nape of his neck.

It’s a terrible haircut. It’s depressing.

Jihoon huffs and sighs and tries to even out the fringe with a vicious flick of fingers, but it’s no use. “Do you think it would look better if I dyed my hair black?” says Jihoon, sounding as depressed as his haircut.

“Honestly? I think you need to stop doing things to your hair, Jihoon.” Dokyeom says, patting him on the shoulder. If he’s trying to console him, it would be more effective if he wasn’t also snickering.

Jihoon throws himself on his bed. Unfortunately, the fall doesn’t end his life, and neither does suffocating himself with the sheets.

“I’m meeting Soonyoung later for drinks—come out with us. It’ll cheer you up.” Dokyeom offers.

“No. I can’t go out looking like this.” Jihoon mumbles pitifully, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"C’mon. It's not that bad," Dokyeom protests. He sounds sympathetic and something else, something- oh god, it's pity isn't it, he rates  _pity_  now.

Jihoon lifts his face out of the pillow long enough to wave a hand across his fringe, pointing out the lop-sidedness of it all. The mullet doesn’t need pointing out, seeing as it’s perpetually _there_.

Dokyeom shrugs in a perfectly readable 'ok, maybe it is that bad,' kind of way.

Jihoon resumes suffocating himself with his pillow. He can hear his phone vibrating in his pocket, and he fishes it out, slamming it down on the nightstand without checking the caller.

Dokyeom pads across the room and turns the phone over. Jihoon can actually _hear_ the leer in his voice when he says, _“Daddy’s calling.”_

Jihoon shoves the pillow off his head in mounting horror. He groans and flops over onto his back, staring up at the water stains on the ceiling.

Oh shit, _Seungcheol_.

Seungcheol can’t see him like _this_. He absolutely can in no way set eyes on this mullet!

Jihoon lets the phone go to voicemail, doesn’t answer the first time. He takes a moment to rub a hand over his hair, and wonder what he’s going to tell Seungcheol.

He could lie and say there was some horrible incident with open flames, or gum. And the mullet was the only way to salvage his hair.

Or maybe he doesn’t have to tell him anything? Maybe he can still meet with Seungcheol, disguising it under a wig or brown paper bag or a beanie.

Sure, Seungcheol will _probably_ have a few questions about why he’s wearing a beanie during sex, but Jihoon can be quite a creative liar when he needs to be.

Really, who’s he kidding?

That’s just ridiculous.

It’s clear now, Jihoon’s just going to have to avoid Seungcheol for the rest of his mullet’s life.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol is a lot of things.

Seungcheol is a corporate raider. He is professional and efficient, if somewhat a little cut-throat with his tactics. He’s exceedingly generous to his friends and family. He's a halfway decent cook. He's totally independent and has been since he started college. He's tired a lot of the time because he works about seventy hours a week which is twice what normal people do, but he's rich and he's amazingly competent at his job. He's almost thirty, and already at the helm of numerous successful business acquisitions.

And there are some things Seungcheol is not.

For instance: Seungcheol is not completely and _utterly_ besotted with his nineteen-year-old sugar-baby camboy.

He's  _not_.

And you know what else’s he’s not?

He’s not stalking Jihoon’s [profile](https://78.media.tumblr.com/248bdadb11066bde9a92f757b25b3394/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po9_1280.jpg) on Facebook and fawning over images of [him](https://78.media.tumblr.com/a28c5305cd0b28777779872d9cd6ef6b/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po6_1280.jpg) with pink candy-floss hair. Because that would be a completely _unacceptable_ thing to do while Mingyu was outlining their next move at a strategy meeting.

 _Completely unacceptable_ , he repeats inside his head as he saves another picture of [Jihoon](https://78.media.tumblr.com/6646c7d41905c938f8bd6b1d990e2fbf/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po7_1280.jpg) on his phone.

Jihoon had managed to acquire both Seungcheol’s personal and work cell phone number. He didn't even manage it _stealthily_. He'd just dug it out of Seungcheol's jacket pocket while he was driving, still talking a mile a minute about this new band he’d just discovered that were _awesome_ , and he'd sent himself a text message.

Seungcheol didn't even try and stop him, and he still had no idea _why_.

Jihoon seemed to think that Seungcheol's carefully worded request to only use his work cell number for emergency situations had been some sort of free pass to send him ‘memes’ whenever he wanted.

Now Seungcheol spends an inordinate amount of time googling the meaning behind said memes and he still doesn’t get half of them.

Meme methods of communication are beyond him, but he’s trying—for _Jihoon_.

Honestly, Seungcheol rarely indulges himself this much in anyone. He supposes he never slowed down long enough to pay any of the people he was sleeping attention until now. But it’s _too_ easy to become attached to Jihoon; the puppy-wriggle of him, how he insists on talking Seungcheol’s ear off when Seungcheol is two half-snores away from nothingness, how he sits up against the headboard in nothing but a band tee with his iPod on his knee blasting dance remixes and making far too many observations about whatever he's finding on _Buzzfeed._

As with any vice, Seungcheol tries to ration himself, thinking it best not to indulge in it often enough to really start to depend on it.

But, it’s been four days since he last saw Jihoon, and they’ve spoken once over the phone and exchanged a few messages, a thousand memes and one very delicious [picture](https://78.media.tumblr.com/73c26caa35323104ae3c7ed3f4d9de02/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po2_500.jpg), but Seungcheol still can’t top thinking about him.

Today’s becoming one of his _least_ productive days ever, because he’s been checking his cell every few hours, with a sort of irritating, mindless obsession that is slowly driving him insane. It’s like suddenly Seungcheol’s life has a gnawing absence that need to be filled with noise and youthful enthusiasm and it’s  _stupid_.

But Jihoon is Jihoon, and Seungcheol can't help the way he reacts to him, never could nor ever wanted to. So, when the meeting finally draws to a close, he returns to his office, leans back in his seat and allows himself to reach for his cell again.

“Hello Dumpling. You coming over tonight?” Seungcheol says as soon as Jihoon answers the phone. “I finish at six and I really miss your face.” He adds, trying to rein in the fondness in his voice with medium success.

There is a pause. “Really? Do you miss my hair too?”

“Uh— _sure_.” Seungcheol chuckles. “I miss every little inch of you.”

There a sharp indrawn breath over the line. “Then I can’t come over. Ever again. It was nice knowing you Seungcheol, but I think it’s for the best that we never see each other again.

Seungcheol’s forehead pinches with concern. “What? Jihoon-“

“It’s not you—it’s me. Actually, it’s my _hair_. Oh god, I can’t even look at myself anymore.” Jihoon says in a thin, watery voice that is the saddest fucking thing Seungcheol has ever heard in his life.

Before Seungcheol can get another word out of him, Jihoon hangs up.

Seungcheol immediately calls him back, but the phone just rings and rings.

Concerned, and more than a little bit confused, Seungcheol stares at his phone screen silently for a moment. It dims, then lights up again quickly with an incoming picture message.

He’s so confused.

Is this another meme?

Google doesn’t seem to think so.

* * *

 

Jihoon couldn’t bring himself to go out drinking with Dokyeom and Soonyoung—had spent the night, instead, with his mullet and his headphones, with an extra-large pepperoni pizza and ‘The Flaming lips’ on shuffle and a feeling of over indulgence so absolute and inescapable that it bypassed self-pity and circled around to contentment.

It was astonishingly easy.

He’s never going to do it again.

When there’s a knock on the door, Jihoon’s only half paying attention when he answers it.

He has a half full glass of juice, and he's wandering around in bare feet, his pyjama shorts and a hoodie that's faded all to hell pulled up over his head to cover the mullet.

He figures DK’s forgotten his keys again, or it’s Seungkwan looking to borrow his notes, or something.

He does _not_ expect to find Choi Seungcheol lingering outside his dorm room door.

Seungcheol must have come directly after work, and hadn't bothered to change. Just flung off his jacket and dispensed with his tie, rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt at the collar. He has light stubble on his cheeks, and he smells like ink and body heat and lingeringly of citrus from his cologne.

He’s so fucking hot Jihoon can hardly believe he is real.

Jihoon is certain he looks surprised, and more than a little disarranged, and they do nothing but stare at each other for a moment.

Jihoon’s brain cells _finally_ kick into gear and he manages to clumsily set hit juice down on the nearest surface, spilling half of it while trying to look composed.

"You're here," Jihoon says, barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Seungcheol says breezily, like there's nothing weird at all about him standing there, looking stupidly, unreasonably handsome in a way that Jihoon knows for certain that he's genetically incapable of, especially since he's fairly sure he's just spilled juice on his shorts.

“How did you find my dorm?” He murmurs, wiping a hand on his hoodie and accepting that he _actually_ looks like a hobo.

Seungcheol ducks his head, like _he_ has something to be embarrassed about here. “The building’s recorded as the address for your bank account,” He shrugs affably. “It wasn’t hard.”

“The dorm super just—let you up?” Jihoon asks, peering up and down the deserted corridor. “That bitch makes such a big deal over unscheduled guests. She won’t even let us have group study sessions in our rooms without emailing ahead.”

Seungcheol shrugs, “I paid her off.”

“You bribed her!” Jihoon says, grinning. “ _Really_?”

Visibly, Seungcheol deflates. "No." He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying not to cringe by the looks of it. “I told her I was your— _dad_.”

Jihoon looks at him, slow and still. _“You’re kidding.”_

Seungcheol smiles like it’s painful. “I wish I was. I _wish_ she didn’t believe it so easily. Fuck—I feel sufficiently ancient now.” Seungcheol grumbles.

Jihoon can’t help doubling over with laughter. “Seriously? She thinks I’m in my twenties at most, so she must think you’re in your forties at _least_.”

“I suppose everyone must look antediluvian when you’ve a baby face like that,” Seungcheol says dryly, before deflating a little more. “I don’t look like I’m in my 40’s.”

It sounds like it wants to be a statement. But Seungcheol doesn't look so sure, he looks like he desperately wants Jihoon to confirm as much.

“No—you don’t. I’m sure it was just your charm.” Jihoon giggles and grabs his hand, tugging him inside.

Jihoon closes the door, slumping back against it. “I can’t believe you came here.”

 _Just to check if I was okay_ —he doesn’t say, he doesn’t _hope_.  

Seungcheol pulls a face at him.

“How could I not?” Seungcheol says, looking expectantly at Jihoon, arms are folded across his chest.” You sounded very distressed over the phone. The picture you sent—although precious—confused the hell out of me. What are you so upset about—and can you take that hood of your head, I can hardly see your face.” He huffs, trying to push the hood off Jihoon’s head.

Jihoon grabs at it and tugs it down tightly. “Don’t!”

Seungcheol’s brow creases into a frown **.** “Why?”

“I—made a bad judgement with my hair style.” Jihoon mumbles, fiddling with the drawstring of his hoodie absently. “It’s pretty bad—you can’t see it.”

“Dumpling,” Seungcheol says, adopting a condescending tone as the corners of his lovely mouth quirk up slightly. Jihoon wants to kiss his stupid, pink lips, but he then he remembers he has a mullet. “I’m sure it’s not that bad Jihoonie—just let me see.”

Jihoon really doesn’t want to, but Seungcheol came all this way to see him and he feels like he owes him an explanation.

“Don’t laugh, okay?” Jihoon grumbles, reaching up to gingerly untie the strings of his hoodie.

When he pulls the hood off his head, Seungcheol opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again before any words can make it out.

Jihoon ducks his head, not because he is blushing, because that would be stupid. “It’s awful—just say it.”

Seungcheol ever the gentleman, hides most of his grin behind a hand as he speaks “No, it’s just—wow.”

“I told you it was bad.” Jihoon pouts. “This is why I didn’t want to see you. I’m _hideous_!” He says mournfully, desperately.

"No, don’t say that." Seungcheol raises his hands, waves over the top of Jihoon’s head, as if to smooth his new hair's hurt feelings without touching it. “I love it. It’s awesome.”

“You’re _lying_.” Jihoon says suspiciously. “It’s the worst. The actual worst. I have a red mullet Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol huffs out a little laugh. “You certainly do. It’s—very _edgy_.” He smiles, making hair smoothing motions again.

“You don’t have to pretend to like it. Nobody wants a sugar baby with a red mullet.” Jihoon sulks.

There’s a long stretch of silence, and eventually Jihoon looks up to see Seungcheol’s expression, to try and figure out what he’s thinking.

He looks kind of like he does when he wants to ravish Jihoon, but it’s softer; there’s a sweet little smile there too.

“That’s not true. I want one.” Seungcheol lifts a hand and strokes his fingers down Jihoon’s cheek, and even though they’re warm, the touch makes Jihoon shiver. “I love it—in fact. I want a picture.”

Seungcheol's hands are suddenly firm and insistent on his waist, swivelling him to catch the light, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture before Jihoon has a chance to protest.

Seungcheol glances at his phone, smiling so wide his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Look, it’s awesome.” He tilts the phone so Jihoon can see.

The picture could almost pass for a Selca, if anyone was brave enough to take a Selca of their mullet disaster hairstyle. Jihoon tries to look without judgment at himself and finds he hates the picture anyway. He was hoping for something flattering or seductive, and achieved nothing but an uncertain frown and a scrunched up mouth. But when he glances up, Seungcheol has the softest look on his face.

“I’m going to make it my wallpaper.” Seungcheol announces.

That shouldn't make Jihoon just ridiculously pleased. It really shouldn't at all. For all that Jihoon feels frustratingly young and inexperienced sometimes, he can tell that this  _means_  something, something serious.

“Thanks.” Jihoon mutters, smiling a little and damn it, he is _not_ going to blush.

Seungcheol reels him in with a hand at the small of his back, “You’re welcome, _Billy Ray Cyrus.”_

Jihoon withers him with a glance. Or at least he hopes he did. Seungcheol’s hand is big and warm and weighty, and Jihoon has to swallow before he can say, “Oh, fuck off.”

That earns him a wide, pleased smile. “ _Hey_ , don’t say that. Don’t break my heart— _my achy-breaky heart.”_

Jihoon cranks his scowl up another notch and wonders if they’ve reached the stage of their relationship where friendly shoving is allowed. He shoves at Seungcheol’s shoulder anyway.

Seungcheol chuckles, grabbing his retreating hand and tugging him into an embrace, taking him by surprise. But hell; if a sugar-baby with a mullet isn’t affecting Seungcheol’s spirits, why should it affect Jihoon’s?

“You’re still the cutest hick in Busan, maybe even the _world_.” Seungcheol says, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of Jihoon's head

Jihoon’s pretty sure he ought to resent that. He's too busy cuddling up to Seungcheol, though.

It takes another few soft kisses to his brow to soothe Jihoon’s ego, but he eventually resolves to pretend the hair doesn't exist, until such time as it's grown out of its mullet phase, or it manages to save the world in some astonishingly unlikely way.

* * *

 

“So—this is what college dorms look like now huh?” Seungcheol asks, glancing around the room.

“Yup.”

“It’s a nice space.” Seungcheol mutters. It didn't sound like sarcasm, but it’s hard to credit as sincere—especially considering DK’s side of the room resembles an actual cess pit.

Jihoon likes his side of the room. He keeps it clean, and spare, and comfortable. But it’s still substandard student accommodation: small and simple, reeking of leftover pizza with an ancient carpet saturated with yesteryear's weed smoke. The air fresheners posted in the hallway weren’t fooling anyone; there was still that lingering tell-tale acrid stink that suggested vomit was hiding somewhere.

Not the kind of place Seungcheol is apt to be impressed by, considering the size of his hotel suite, or anywhere else Seungcheol has surely lived since.

Jihoon fiddles with the hem of his hoodie. “It’s not much.” He murmurs, a little self-conscious by now.

Seungcheol’s not being intrusive and opening drawers and checking out the closet, but he’s squinting at Jihoon's books stacked up on the shelf and thumbing through his record collection and it’s a level of personal he never thought they’d achieve.

“It’s nicer than how I remember my college dorms.” Seungcheol offers. He sounds amused, flicking glances at him every few seconds as he scrutinizes Jihoon’s taste in music.

“Oh yeah, I forget you must have gone to college— _once upon a time_.” Jihoon jibes.

Seungcheol’s forehead wrinkles. “And I’m guessing _this_ is _your_ side of the room.” He says, changing gears effortlessly, turning to take in the rest of the room: Jihoon’s guitar on a stand in the corner, his work uniform hanging on the front of the closet door, the turntable he gifted him sitting proudly on the dresser.

“Yup. The habitable side.” Jihoon says, scuffing his toe on the carpet. “Dokyeom’s awesome. But he’s gross.”

Seungcheol nods and begins to say something else, and then a look of utter surprise overtakes him.

“Oh, woah!” He gasps, eyes wide and impressed as he turns to looks at Jihoon’s unmade bed. “I recognise those sheets. Is this where the _magic_ happens?”

Jihoon nods, barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Woah!” Seungcheol says again, standing back a little to regard the bed from a different angle.

“It’s just my bed.” Jihoon protests, laughing at the wonder in Seungcheol’s voice.

Seungcheol stands back, hands on his hip and a look of complete joy on his face. “Honestly, I’m a little stars truck. I’m in your dorm room—where you _film_. For weeks I used to watch you doing your thing and think—I wish I was there now. I feel like I’m watching MTV cribs.”

“Oh god,” Jihoon says, laughing more, nervous and pleased. “You really _are_ ancient if you’re still referencing that show.”

Seungcheol smiles at him, continues to look around the room with a nervous, jittery energy that resembles a kid in a candy store. It’s kind of adorable.

“Where do you keep all your….” Seungcheol trails off, briefly looking back at him with a blush on his cheeks.

“Oh, my toys? Under the bed.” Jihoon says. He pads over and pulls the wheeled storage unit out from under the bed.

He’s amassed quite the collection in the seven and a half months he’s been streaming; the box is so heavy the mattress springs creak when he hoists it on the bed.

“Woah. That’s a lot of dildo’s just for one guy.” Seungcheol says with delight, digging through Jihoon’s sex toy collection.

“They’re mostly gifts. I haven’t got around to using them all yet.” Jihoon answers, lounging back on his creaky bed, watching Seungcheol pick up a vibrating wand and inspect it appreciatively.

Seungcheol’s face takes on a more angular quality when he’s focused, his full lips pursed in concentration, which just—okay, you'd have to be dead not to want to stare at that.

“You know,” Jihoon begins, sitting up and crossing his legs. “I was planning on taking a few pics tonight—updating my profile. I do that every few weeks to keep things interesting.”

“Oh, okay.” Seungcheol suddenly looks stiff and awkward, setting down the wand like he thinks Jihoon’s kicking him out. Which, no, really,  _no_ , that’s not what Jihoon was getting at.

Jihoon’s stomach does something unfamiliar and gymnastic as Seungcheol turns to leave with a crestfallen expression. He reaches out quickly and stops his retreat with a hand on his arm.

“Wait. Don’t you want to help get me ready?” He smiles.

Seungcheol's stillness this time seems to be more surprise than anything else. “Get ready?”

At Seungcheol’s confused look, he explains, “Yeah. I thought you could help me pick what to wear, what toys to pose with. Maybe even help me take some pics?”

“Yeah? Yeah, okay. Sounds good.” Seungcheol says quietly, and his eyes are flickering over Jihoon's face, like he's surprised him...no, like he's tempted him.

* * *

 

Seungcheol stares at Jihoon’s closet, thoughtfully. “The white ones. Definitely the white ones.” He says, thumb drifting over the lace trimming of a pair he’d selected almost immediately.

“Really?” Jihoon questions, frowning. “Don’t you think they’d wash me out—I’m already kind of pale.”

“No—they’ll be perfect. Trust me.” Seungcheol assures, grinning as Jihoon indulges him and starts shedding his clothes.

He steps into the panties, is sliding them up his legs when Seungcheol asks, “Do you shave?”

Jihoon lets the elastic snap around his hips. “What?”

“Your legs? I keep meaning to ask, but I couldn’t help noticing how _smooth_ they were. Really silky. Like—zero stubble. Do you wax them?” Seungcheol whispers, staring down, mesmerised.

“Uhmm—” Jihoon shrugs. “They’ve always been like that. I do get this one, small patch right here—” Jihoon says, patting the upper end of his calf. “And I wax it off once a year and it grows back a year later. It’s weird.”

“That’s _amazing_.” Seungcheol says, bending down to examine Jihoon’s hairless legs like they’re the eighth wonder of the world.

Jihoon giggles. “Not really. I don’t really know many overly hairy guys. Must be Asian genes.”

“I’m Asian.” Seungcheol says flatly, lifting his trouser cuff up slightly to reveal his much hairier leg.

“Yeah—but you’re obviously some kind of Mountain gorilla from Daegu. You need the hair to survive the harsh winters.” Jihoon laughs, selecting a pair of matching white stockings from his drawer.

Seungcheol looks up, meeting Jihoon’s eyes. He looks a little hesitant at first, but inquires in a deep polite voice, "May I help you put them on?"

Jihoon smirks and offers the stocking in an outstretched hand. “Sure.” Seungcheol is fully clothed and Jihoon’s naked, and there’s something so  _hot_  about that.

Seungcheol gets down on one knee, one of the stockings bunched in his hand, and reaches down to slide it over Jihoon’s foot. His fingers are slow working each stocking on, warm and careful as Jihoon extends one foot, balancing on the other one with complete ease.

At Seungcheol’s subtle sign, Jihoon sits down on the edge of the bed. He raises each leg as [Seungcheol](https://78.media.tumblr.com/3b6580728e21e847921330e4ef135d7e/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po5_1280.jpg) inches the lace up his calves and over the bend of his knee in a way that makes his skin tingle in strange ways. Then he’s encouraged to lie down when Seungcheol stands, propping his socked foot on the muscled chest as [Seungcheol](https://78.media.tumblr.com/d98ead34bd6c8c8602cb862ca3bb1d8c/tumblr_p2rxteGih31vzsa1po1_1280.jpg) eases the hem to settle on his upper thigh, smoothing down the lace down his leg with strong fingers.

Jihoon steps into the garter belt next, lets Seungcheol pull it on him, moving whenever there's a subtle push on his skin, wherever there's pressure, the lean of an arm. Seungcheol barely looks him in the eye. He's focused on the outfit, on the way it fits together.

He slides behind Jihoon, hitching the lace belt into place over his hips, twisting to get the suspenders hanging down perfectly.

When he stands back, Jihoon glances in the mirror on the far side of the wall, inspecting himself and Seungcheol’s approving look reflected there. He can't help the curve of his mouth, can't help from smoothing his hands down over his own thighs.

 _Seungcheol was right_ , Jihoon thinks distantly.  _The white does suit him_.

“A little help?” Jihoon says, more for Seungcheol’s benefit than his.

He’s done this hundreds of times by now so he hardly needs the help, but he lets Seungcheol fasten the suspender clips in place, watches with heavy hooded haze as Seungcheol reaches out and runs just one finger down his side, smiling when he brushes against the lace of the garter belt. 

“Picture time.”

* * *

 

Jihoon poses on the bed; first on his stomach, ass in the air, then turns on to his back, one knee propped up.  

Seungcheol appears, upside down, above Jihoon's head. “Jihoon, not gonna lie, I feel like a creep.”

“You are a creep.” Jihoon wheedles, smiling into his outstretched arm.

“Gee, _thanks_.” Seungcheol drawls. He sounds insulted even though he’s smiling.

Jihoon rolls on his side and props his head up with his hand. “Hey. Don’t be glum. You’re a creep and you’re my friend. You're officially my creepy friend. Everyone should have a creepy friend." He giggles. He isn't entirely sure if the creepy friend and the stupidly hot friend are allowed to be the same person though. You'd think they'd be mutually exclusive.

Seungcheol grins and lifts the camera again. “This angle good?”

“Yes, just like that.”

Seungcheol snaps a picture, pauses to glances at the preview window, smiling, then snaps a few more.

“So, does your roommate usually help you?” Seungcheol asks, pausing to adjust the lens on the camera

“Dokyeom? _God, no!”_ Jihoon laughs, stretching crossways on the bed, his legs dangling off the side. “I usually just set the camera up on the desk with a timer and angle it with the tripod if I need it. Dokyeom is cool about the cam-boy thing while he’s out—but he’d _freak_ out if I ever asked for that kind of help. We don’t have _that_ kind of friendship.”

Seungcheol hums, “Good to know.”

Seungcheol drops down on a knee to snaps a few shots at a different angle, zooming in on where Jihoon has his hand resting on his stomach, just above the suspender belt. He's quiet for a second and then asks, “Should I take a full length shot?”

“No, no. I have to crop my face out anyway. Just focus on my ass and legs—and dick.”

Seungcheol hesitates a moment more and then he mumbles “Not something you usually here when you’re taking photographs, but okay.”

He takes one, two, three photos of Jihoon posing like that, and then directs him to change positions.

Jihoon moves to spread out on the bed, tugs down the front of his panties and takes his cock in hand. He tugs on it gently, thumb swiping over the head and he thinks he can see Seungcheol’s pupils dilate, but perhaps that's just fancy.

He's _certainly_ not imagining the way Seungcheol licks his lips, the slightly deeper timber of his voice.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous Jihoonie. Seriously, a wet dream.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon shudders, eyes fluttering shut. Seungcheol's voice does  _things_  to him when it gets rough like that, makes him feel like tipping his head back and arching his spine and begging.

He feels a soft touch and opens his eyes to see Seungcheol’s warm palm curling over his hipbone. He puts his hand on the top of Seungcheol’s without thinking, and Seungcheol smiles at him, filthy and proud and ….

There's something else there, an unknown dark quantity that Jihoon would very much like to get better acquainted with.

 _Oh_ , Jihoon thinks, feeling a little punch-drunk. 

“I want to try something different.” Jihoon says, wetting his lips. He has this too-warm sensation in the pit of his stomach—and, well, other places.

Seungcheol lowers the camera and tilts his head: go on.

Jihoon grins and rolls over onto his stomach, looking at Seungcheol over his shoulder. “See that ribbon at the back, can you tie it around my wrists?” He asks, crossing his arms behind his back.

"Uh—sure," Seungcheol says, agreeable. He sets the camera down on the bed to wind the ribbon attached to the back of the underwear around Jihoon’s wrists.

Rather than tying them loosely, he goes on to loop the ribbon around each wrist twice, securing it. Then he pulls, and Jihoon lets out a breath with maybe more noise than he'd intended.

"Too tight?" Seungcheol asks.

"It's fine," Jihoon says. And all right, maybe he's a little breathless with arousal right now. Seriously, there’s no reason for him to be this turned on from being a little tied up.

“Put your hand on my ass.” Jihoon says. (This soft, hoarse sound – is that really Jihoon's voice? It doesn't sound anything like him.)

“I—uh—Okay.” Seungcheol says, doing just that and Jihoon is gratified that he doesn't sound much like himself either.

Jihoon wets his lips, takes a steadying breath. “Good, now take a picture.”

Seungcheol balances the camera in one hand and clicks, “I hope I’m getting a copy of these.” He says, a curl of surprised approval in the deepness of his voice. Evidently, he’s pleased with what he sees.

* * *

 

Jihoon hooks his camera up to his laptop, showing Seungcheol how he edits and captions his pictures, picking from the reel _just_ the right ones to upload to his ‘Busan Kitten’ profile.

He’s seated on Seungcheol’s lap in front of the desk, secured into place by Seungcheol’s arms around him. He would have preferred to stake out a spot on the bed, but his laptop's sparkless battery only manages a pitiful fifteen minutes of battery life at a time. So sitting by the desk would have to do.

Not that he’ll ever complain about sitting in Seungcheol’s nice, warm lap.

“Nice.” Seungcheol says as Jihoon swipes to the next picture. “Told you the white pair looked good.”

Jihoon nods. He can see now the way the lace defines his [ass](https://78.media.tumblr.com/b6cd2d835be07c4c854b360800b034ad/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po5_1280.jpg), the way the white stockings actually make his legs look longer. With the soft lighting in the background, he thinks he looks almost [ethereal](https://78.media.tumblr.com/9192e2d552c5a79d9923ad7aed56563a/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po4_400.jpg).

“Yeah, you’ve got an eye for this kind of thing. I’m impressed. Do this often?” Jihoon smirks, pretending that he can't feel the way Seungcheol fidgets at this idle compliment.

“Thanks. It’s just beginners luck I guess.”

Jihoon twists his head round far enough to look at Seungcheol, rests his hand over Seungcheol’s where his fingers are folded around his waist. “Since you’ve got such great taste, maybe we should pick out some lingerie for you—see what you look like on the other side of the camera. You never know, you might have some yet undiscovered camboy talent lurking under those suits.”

Seungcheol chuckles, hands sliding up Jihoon’s waist to roam his skin, “No, no, no. I’ll stick to fetishizing.”

Jihoon waggles his eyebrows and clicks to the next picture, an aerial [shot](https://78.media.tumblr.com/d2ad2b31ff785b803a7fe0f3f71fa311/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po6_500.jpg) of him lying face down on the bed, thighs open and ass up. It’s a great angle he couldn’t achieve shooting by himself, definitely worth uploading.

He swipes through the rest of the reel: Ass—ass—ass—[stockings](https://78.media.tumblr.com/c7bfbb082ea928f1462e87ae5404ca4d/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po7_1280.jpg)—ass+thighs—thighs and dick—[ass](https://78.media.tumblr.com/17b58ed9a8631b69847472a7aa0e3665/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po3_1280.jpg) again, but from a better angle. He skips past several photos of him touching his cock before he comes across one of his hands tied behind his back with the ribbon, Seungcheol’s hand [resting](https://78.media.tumblr.com/7a2df9bb1399aabaf1c4c0c1121b851d/tumblr_p2rvzx10x21vzsa1po9_1280.jpg) on his butt cheek.

“Oh, _woah_. That’s _awesome_. That’s a really good shot actually. That’s definitely going on.” He says, right-clicking the mouse to begin the upload.

Seungcheol’s fingers tighten incrementally around his waist. “You’re going to upload that one?”

Jihoon strokes a thumb over the back of Seungcheol’s hand and turns to smile at him. “Uh—yeah? You okay with that?”

Seungcheol’s quiet for a second, brow furrowed. “Sure. I mean-it’s just my hand—but, won’t your clients want to know _who’s_ hand it is or something?”

Jihoon hums and sinks against him a little more. “Probably. But it will drive them wild with jealousy. Wouldn’t you like that? _Knowing_ it’s yours?”

Seungcheol mulls that over for a second, then smiles and kisses his shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. I would.”

Jihoon reaches over to tip Seungcheol’s chin up, is leaning in for a kiss—when the door flies open and smacks against the wall.

“Jihoon—you won’t believe the car that’s parked downstairs. It can’t be a students—It…” Dokyeom stops short, his mouth falling open.

Seungcheol stiffens like a corpse under him, perhaps trying to disguise himself as a chair.

Jihoon groans out loud, because if there was somebody he really never needed Seungcheol to meet, it was Dokyeom. And maybe his parents. Possibly Soonyoung too. And Jisoo. Oh god—he hopes Seungcheol never has the misfortune of encountering Seungkwan alone in a dark alley.

“DK, You’re back early.” Jihoon mumbles, tugging his hoodie back over his naked chest.

DK blinks, checks his wrist watch slowly. “It’s midnight.”

“Oh shit!” Jihoon grabs his phone and checks the time. “It is! Guess we got carried away with…”

“Studying!” Seungcheol blurts out, panicked.

“Studying?” DK echoes, bemused. He is looking them over, taking in the sight of Jihoon in Seungcheol’s lap, how Seungcheol’s holding Jihoon at the waist. “You’re a _student_ here?” DK says, his smile getting too big too fast.

“Yes!” Seungcheol says, jumping up so fast Jihoon is practically catapulted out of his lap. “I mean—No. I’m a post graduate student. My name is Francois? I’m studying Italian? Guten Tag!”

Jihoon swats Seungcheol on the shoulder. “Seungcheol—stop _lying_! DK knows you’re my sugar daddy.”

Dokyeom throws his head back, laughing like a loon. 

Seungcheol has the decency to look shamefaced. “Sorry. Sorry—I panicked. I wasn’t sure if you were telling people or if it was supposed to be a secret.”

“Secret.” DK guffaws. “ _Hello_ —I’m his _room-mate_. There have been no secrets between us since that time I walked in on Jihoon when he accidentally cuffed himself to the bed post. And though he’s good at keeping secrets, he never stops talking about you.”

“Really?” Seungcheol exclaims, sounding delighted with that piece of information.

Jihoon mimes cutting his throat to Dokyeom, who just smiles sharkily. 

“Oh yeah, all the time. You wanna know what _else_ he says about you?”

“Okay—this conversation is over. Say goodbye to DK, Seungcheol.” Jihoon says, pushing Seungcheol out the door before Dokyeom can figure out a creative way to further embarrass him. He doesn’t even care that he’s still wearing his lingerie, that’s just what’s happening now. 

“Bye Francois!” Dokyeom yells at their retreating backs.

“Auf Wiedersehen.” Seungcheol shouts back at him, waving goodbye as Jihoon shoves him into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind them.

Outside, Seungcheol slides his hands into his pockets and just stares at Jihoon for a moment, before his lips curl into an indecent grin.

“So—you never stop talking about me?” Seungcheol asks. He doesn't sound accusing or distant, not even the horribly manufactured matter-of-fact thing he does when he’s throwing around money. He sounds a little tentative, maybe, hopeful even.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jihoon murmurs, tugging Seungcheol toward him for a kiss. It’s very brief and absolutely chaste but somehow they are both breathless when it ends.

“Sorry we didn’t get to do more tonight.” Jihoon says breathlessly, reaching up to straighten Seungcheol’s collar.

Seungcheol touches a finger to Jihoon's lips, smiling “Are you kidding? This was fun—thanks for letting me sit in and watch you work.”

“Yeah? Maybe I could sit in and see what _you_ do sometime?” Jihoon teases.

“Bring your sugar-baby to work day, huh?” Seungcheol nods, pleased. “I like the sound of that.”

 _“Do you now.”_ Jihoon drawls.

Since Seungcheol suggested it, Jihoon thinks it's only fair he make the effort. 

* * *

 

A week later, with a head of freshly dyed jet-black hair, Jihoon swings the large glass door open and strides purposefully across the lobby of Pledis Holdings, pizza box in hand.

He dearly hopes the borrowed ‘Delivery boy’ cap and empty pizza box has managed to make him look the part.

The security guard at the main desk glances up as Jihoon passes the desk, then does a double take as he keeps walking towards the elevator.

"Hey—where do you think you’re going kid?"

Jihoon freezes with his foot in mid stride.

He resettles his weight and turns to face the Security guard standing up now behind his desk, making sure to keep the jacket tucked tightly around him.

Yeah—it’s weird to be wearing shorts in the middle of winter, but he didn't need the guard to see that he was shirtless too, _or_ for him to notice the black panties and stockings he’s sporting either.

“Oh, hello.” He starts, trying to find a way to sound less unhinged so he doesn’t get tasered or something. “I have a pizza Delivery for the 17th floor—A Mr Choi ordered a Hawaiian.”

“Pizza huh?” The guard says, continuing to glance occasionally at the monitors in front of him. “Mr Choi didn’t say nothing about expecting no pizza.”

Jihoon sighs out an impatient breath. “Well— _somebody_ ordered it.”

The Security Guard stares him down and moves out from behind his desk.

Jihoon takes a breath, trying to keep it together as he prowls closer.

“Look. I really need to deliver this pizza. He ordered it half an hour ago and I’m already running late cause my bike broke down.” Jihoon says, looking at his wrist, where there is no watch to be seen. He hopes the guard doesn’t notice that.

“I don’t want to miss out on a tip! So please, if you don’t mind.” Jihoon pleads, trying to look sheepish, trying to appear young and zealous and a lot more naive than he felt.

“Hold up.” The Security guard says, giving him a tight smile. He picks up the phone and starts to punch in some numbers. “I’ll call him and check.”

Jihoon grits his teeth; that’s the last thing he needs. “Okay, cool. Do that. I’m sure he loves cold pizza and being disturbed when he’s working late.”

The guard pauses mid dial, then sets the phone back on the hook. He nods in a knowing way, and Jihoon knows the con has worked. “On second thought. You better head up there right away.”

“Can do!” Jihoon says, giving a quick salute with his pizza box as he walks towards the elevators. As the shimmering steel doors close, he breathes a deep sigh of relief, releases his white knuckled grip on his jacket and presses the button for the 17th floor.

* * *

 

“Did somebody order a pizza?” asks Jihoon as he comes into Seungcheol’s office, already yanking off his baseball cap and spreading open one lapel on his oversized jacket “Cause Baby-boy needs a big tip toni—"

The rest of the sentence dies in his throat at the sight that greets him.

Jihoon had expected to find Seungcheol stressed and irritated, sat behind his desk in his deserted office. The same place he usually occupies when his job demands a late night. 

He didn’t expect this: Seungcheol seated behind his desk, flanked by two men in suits discussing paperwork.

Oh—shitty shit shit.

All three heads snap up at his interruption, confusion and alarm writ across their features.

Jihoon yanks the jacket tight around himself again, hoping the distance and minimal lighting between the door and the desk was sufficient to disguise the clothing underneath. Or the _lack_ of it.

It doesn’t look like it’s worked. The two strangers are staring at him silently without blinking, while Seungcheol’s staring like he doesn't have any idea what to do with him, like he doesn't understand why Jihoon is here. 

“Erm,” A blonde suited man at Seungcheol left begins, mouth curved in a way to suggest he’s fighting a smile. Slowly he turns his head to look at Seungcheol and says, “Where _exactly_ do you order your pizza from? A brothel?”

Jihoon hears something like a snort from the other stranger, a freakishly tall man with a youthful face.

He’s too busy dying of horror and shame to be offended.

Seungcheol stands abruptly, brushes the creases out of his suit. He's been wearing it for a while by the look of it. It's not quite as tidy, not quite as exact. Nowhere near as neat as it usually is. He rests his hands on the desk in a way that for anyone else would look relaxed, almost lazy. Seungcheol just looks quietly balanced, and suddenly several shades of sharpness past welcoming.

“Mingyu, Jun—that will be all. You can head home.” Seungcheol says, terrifyingly calm.

Mingyu and Jun flick their gazes between Jihoon and Seungcheol a few thousand times before leaving.

* * *

 

Seungcheol’s main office is...it's big, and ever so slightly terrifying. It's immaculately organised and dimly lit, despite the floor to ceiling windows all along one end.

Seungcheol has perched himself on the edge of the glass desk, looking at Jihoon with his 'serious business' hair. Which doesn't really look all that different from his normal hair but Jihoon's been having fun categorising them all.

“What were you thinking?” Seungcheol says. It's more of an accusation than a question.

Jihoon's aware he's probably bright red, half shame and half guilty arousal and he knows damn well Seungcheol sees it all. He's too sharp, too good to miss anything and Jihoon's got nowhere else to turn, nowhere else to look.

“I’m sorry.” Jihoon starts uncertainly, and it sounds so loud, makes him swallow and clear his throat, try for something a little less pathetic. “I was trying to surprise you. I didn’t think there would be anybody else here this late.”

Seungcheol catches his own lower lip between his teeth and shakes his head.

“Luckily it was only Mingyu and Jun. _Friends_ of mine, whom I can count on for their discretion. I would have struggled to explain this to anyone else—and I don’t like being put in that position.”

Jihoon huffs. “I thought you said you didn’t _care_ who knew about--”

“In the privacy of my home or hotel room— _yes_.” Seungcheol cuts him off, quick and firm. “Not when I’m at work, Jihoon. Not where I’m responsible for setting a standard. I could have been in a meeting.”

“Who has meetings at 8.15 pm?” Jihoon half-shrugs, feeling deflated.

“I do.” Seungcheol says, his voice scraping subzero, the clench of his jaw reaching a disconcerting degree of tightness.

Jihoon drops his gaze, tightens his grip on the pizza box in his hand.

What a stupid fucking idea. What the hell _was_ he thinking?

He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to  _say_. He feels awkward and confused, frozen where he stands.

Seungcheol’s face does a meaningful sort of scrunch. “Listen, Kid—”

“Jesus fucking Christ—don’t call me that.” Jihoon glares. Of all the things Seungcheol could call him, _kid_ —is the absolute fucking worst. “Don’t patronize me when I came here to have hot office sex with you.”

Seungcheol stands taller and thins his mouth into a hard line. There's a visible battle warring across his heavy brow. It's a long time before he finally speaks again, and when he does his voice is low and tight.

“You should go home, we’ll talk about this when you cool off.”

“Hell no,” Jihoon retorts. There's something cold and frantic clawing at his gut, saying  _fix this, and_  now. “You want to break it off with me—just say what you have to now. I’m not going home to wait for your call. We both know how _great_ you are at calling people back.”

Seungcheol locks him in an incredulous look. “I’m not breaking anything off Jihoon. I wouldn’t--”

“I’m not leaving.” Jihoon interjects sharply. With conscious effort, he smoothes the ruffled confrontation from his tone, lets his own expression soften into something considering. Lets the  _want_  show through the remnants of his embarrassed anger. “Say what you gotta say—tell me off, shout at me. Hell—you can spank me too if that’s what you want.”

The sound Seungcheol makes is barely audible, but Jihoon hears it, the quiet strangled wanting noise at the back of his throat. Jihoon _sees_ the way Seungcheol's pupils have dilated at his blunt suggestion.

“Is that what you want? Want to bend me over your desk and spank me? Maybe use your belt?” Jihoon whispers.

Seungcheol hesitates. "Jihoon—"

"I'm just saying." Fuck, he wants this, and he doesn't care how desperate he sounds. "I’d let you, you know. I wasn’t planning on it for tonight, just wanted to suck you off under your desk while you made phone calls and stuff. But now, I can’t get that image out of my head.”

" _Jihoon_." Still a protest, but this time it comes with a fresh surge of warmth.

“I think I like the idea of you spanking my ass red, bent over your desk, or maybe over your knee.” Jihoon says, making it sound like an idle observation, a careless game.

When he started this line of attack, he was hoping, guessing. Now he's sure. One hundred percent certain that Seungcheol wants him like this. Wants to hold him down and claim him. 

Seungcheol’s eyes have fluttered shut. For several seconds Jihoon thinks he will keep arguing with him. Maybe this is an impasse after all. Maybe Jihoon has just bared his naked soul for nothing. The idea makes him ache.

Just as Seungcheol opens his mouth to speak, the phone rings.

“Choi Seungcheol.” He answers, sounding at once perfectly bored and impatient. He waits a moment and then cups his hand over the receiver and lowers it. “I need to take this call, sit down, eat your pizza.”

“But I—"

“Not now, Jihoon.” Seungcheol says, raising a hand to stop Jihoon talking.

“It’s just an empty box.” Jihoon mumbles, setting the pizza box on the desk. He hates how helpless he sounds. Gone is his self-assured bravado, eradicated by the need for Seungcheol to put him in his place.

He slumps down into the seat across from Seungcheol, uncaring of how his jacket splays open around him.

When he looks up again he’s expecting Seungcheol to be wholly reabsorbed in the conversation, mentally preparing for the scolding he’ll deliver after. Seungcheol, instead, is staring at Jihoon’s bare chest.

He lifts the phone away from his face and covers the receiver again. His breath hitches, “Are—are you _naked_ under that?”

There's no mistaking it, no misinterpreting the flash of something hungry behind the obvious and mounting warmth of Seungcheol's expression.

Jihoon bites his own lower lip to keep from smiling as imminent victory suffuses his blood. He can't quite contain the pleased hum when Seungcheol’s hands grip the phone tighter as he spreads the jacket open a little more.

“Not completely.” Jihoon returns, grinning and letting his thigh fall open. He stands up and shrugs off his jacket, letting it tumble to the floor.

Seungcheol goes gratifyingly slack-jawed.

Before Jihoon can do much more than cock one hip and grin, Seungcheol snaps back to attention and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Baekhyun,” he says, “Yeah, I know. I just got off the phone to one of the share holders. Listen, I don’t _care_ about a change of heart, he signed the paperwork and..”

Seungcheol goes on smoothly, doodling something in his notebook. If it weren’t for the sudden nervous look he shoots over the table, Jihoon wouldn’t suspect Seungcheol’s mind ever drifted off-task.

Jihoon is nothing if not observant, of course.

He takes the long way round the desk between them, circling behind Seungcheol as he toes off his converse and shimmies out of his shorts.

A few feet away, Seungcheol is watching him from the corner of his eyes as he continues to speak in that _‘I will kill you of this deal doesn’t go through’_ intimidating tone.

“The success of this venture depended on you convincing him otherwise, so do it.” Seungcheol is growling into the receiver.

Jihoon honestly has no idea if Seungcheol is trying to terrify the man out of Korea or if this is just how Seungcheol  _is_  when he’s conducting business affairs. There’s a few pauses where he pretends to listen for a moment before clearing his throat and jumping in with another threat.

It’s unbelievably hot to watch.

He knows now Seungcheol-at-work and Seungcheol-at-play are two completely different creatures, and watching it in action is making him desperately uncomfortable. Especially where his cock is concerned.

He takes a step, well inside Seungcheol's personal space, and when all he gets is a raised eyebrow and a questioning expression he slides his panties off and very carefully lays them on Seungcheol’s desk.

Seungcheol makes a strangled, agreeable noise. His hand reaches out to pick them up, then alters course at the last second, picking up a pen instead to scribble something.

Jihoon walks up behind him, leans over Seungcheol’s shoulder to see what he’s writing:  _don’t_ _even think about it._

Jihoon takes a chance and reaches up to hook his fingers in the collar of Seungcheol’s shirt, gives an almost playful tug.

 _Seriously, this call is important —_Seungcheol writes, slapdash.

“No, I know what Chanyeol is offering him, I’ve heard his presentation three different places,” Seungcheol says, “but I’m telling you now that that figure is a load of bullshit. If he could offer something like that and go through with it I would have been out of a job years ago”—

Jihoon slides his hands from Seungcheol’s collar to the smooth knot of his tie, wiggles his narrow little half-Windsor knot tighter and begins to loosen it meaningfully. He yanks it loose in a stroke of his hand before Seungcheol can knock him out of the way with an irritated swat.

When Jihoon pulls his arm safely away, he’s got Seungcheol’s silk tie in his fist, and it slithers out from Seungcheol’s collar with a sly zipping noise.

 _Stop —_writes Seungcheol.

“But I just want to make it up to you, Daddy.” Jihoon purrs quietly.

He loops the tie round his neck, flings the narrow end over his shoulder like a flamboyant theatre buff, comes round to the front of Seungcheol’s chair and stands there toying with the point of the wide end, angling it and dragging it back and forth on the skin just over his navel.

“O-oh gee mistew handsome Seungcheol. I can’t handle it when you’re angry with me. It makes me blush.” Jihoon murmurs kittenishly.

Seungcheol quirks him an unimpressed brow and continues talking.

His resilience is a far too tempting a challenge for Jihoon, who next decides to pull the tie off his neck and loop it around the base of his dick. He wraps the red silk round and round until he regains Seungcheol's attention, which comes with a raised eyebrow.

Seungcheol holds the phone away from his mouth and makes a hurt expression—like perhaps that was his favourite tie and now Jihoon is using it as some sort of makeshift scarf for his dick.

 _Bad_ _, bad boy_ —he mouths noiselessly, and Jihoon half-grins with relief.

Jihoon tugs on each end of the tie a little, then fashions them into a bow just under his balls so that his cock looks like a little pink present for Seungcheol. He mostly does it because he wants to make Seungcheol laugh.

Seungcheol doesn’t laugh, but he clearly wants to.

“He can kick up a fuss all he wants, he got a good deal. I’m re-negotiating jack-shit. If he doesn’t want to be at the helm when this goes down you tell him that can be arranged,”—Seungcheol spits, watching as Jihoon starts to stroke himself, shifting silky fabric over his dick.

“I,” says Seungcheol, flustered and trapped. He blinks hard and looks at the glass wall behind Jihoon’s shoulder. “Repeat what you said there.” he says into the phone, only a little breathless.

Not one to be ignored, Jihoon unbuttons the top of Seungcheol’s collar, which looks weird all neat and taut without the punctuation of his tie anyway. He undoes the topmost buttons, letting his thumbs brush bare skin at the base of Seungcheol's throat.

In the hollow under his Adam’s apple Jihoon can see the bump of Seungcheol’s heartbeat, and he tugs on the collar until Seungcheol has little choice but to tip his head back and look at him.

It’s a critical phone call, but Seungcheol’s dropped his pen now, and his eyes are fluttering to half-mast, like he’s given up the fight already.

It encourages Jihoon to lean down, to palm and push at the front of Seungcheol’s trousers, squeezing the hardness he finds there, pleased.

“Mm,” Seungcheol moans, and changes it hastily to, “no, I see.”

He sucks in an unsteady breath as Jihoon sinks to his knees between his spread legs, unbuttoning his trousers, the soft snickt of his zipper too loud in the warm quiet.

Seungcheol makes a noise in his throat, something soft, like this is a liberty he hadn't intended to take. He doesn't refuse it though, doesn’t stop Jihoon from palming him through his boxers, working his cock out into the cool air.  

It’s totally unconscious, the way that Jihoon licks his lips at the sight of Seungcheol’s hard-on, but just seeing it is enough to get Jihoon hard most of the time.

He wraps his hand around it and starts to jerk him off slowly, pulling his foreskin back with each stroke. The length jumps in his hand, it’s red and hard and slick at the head, and Jihoon needs it, wants it with a ferocity that turns everything blindingly white for a moment.

But he can't make himself lean forward, has to wait until Seungcheol's hand cradles the back of his head.

“Let’s be completely frank here, this is delaying the inevitable,” says Seungcheol, hand fisting in his hair, tugging him closer to his rising cock. “—one way or another I get what I want.” Seungcheol says, tightening his grip on Jihoon’s hair in warning.

Jihoon licks his cock then, pulls the slick head into his mouth and tightens his lips around it. He hums and sucks, making small, low sounds, dark and appreciative, staring up at Seungcheol through his eyelashes.

He’s already half-clumsy with arousal, so there's nothing civilised about it. There's nothing elegant about the saliva smearing his chin or the precome at the corners of his lips.

Seungcheol keeps blessedly still until Jihoon swirls his tongue around the head, adds a gentle scrape of teeth and then sinks down as far as he can, relaxing his throat open around the length, making up the distance with his fingers.

Jihoon can feel his throat wanting to clamp down and push back; his eyes water. But time enough for a showy suck and three or four bobs of his head before he comes up for air. Goes back down. Delights, maybe a little egotistically, in the helpless arch and shudder of Seungcheol’s thighs under his hand, the way Seungcheol bites his lip hard to silence himself as Jihoon does everything short of choking himself on his cock.

It’s possible no one’s ever taken Seungcheol’s dick this deep, thinks Jihoon dizzily, and that little notion inspires him to hold his breath even longer the next time.

Seungcheol ticks out a small sigh that could be exasperation at whatever is being said on the other end of the call. It’s not exasperation, but it could be.

“We can do this the way we agreed, or can find somebody else to step into his shoes.” says Seungcheol, tangling fingers in Jihoon’s hair and holding him still so he can fuck into Jihoon’s mouth, little hungry but restrained curls of motion.

Jihoon sucks and draws shaky breaths through his nose, suddenly turned on past the telling of it.

What sounds grating and condescending from across the room sounds desperately hot and commanding with a cock in Jihoon’s mouth.

Jihoon closes his eyes and licks around Seungcheol’s cock head, bobs it against the sweet soft inside of his cheek. When he looks up, Seungcheol’s still staring down at him, rapt, serious, intense.

“Okay, Baekhyun, you’ve got two minutes to convince me that will work.” Seungcheol says, hoarse. He clears his throat in a quick harsh cough.

Jihoon has a rhythm now, and it’s fast, perfectly designed to get Seungcheol off as efficiently as possible – not that it’ll be difficult, judging by the feel of Seungcheol on his tongue, the jump of Seungcheol’s belly muscles, the involuntary jolt of his hips. He wants Seungcheol to come in his mouth, he’s ready for it—but then Seungcheol’s tugging him off.

Seungcheol's panting lightly, chest rising and falling when Jihoon blinks through the wetness in his eyes to look up.

He tries to reach for Seungcheol’s cock again, but Seungcheol still has him by the hair, and he holds Jihoon firmly in place.

“I’m tired of this conversation. Tell him to get his ass in gear or I’ll find somebody to take his place. It’s that simple.” Seungcheol speaks into the phone.

His voice is so fucking deep and rough, just hearing it makes Jihoon shiver. Combined with those eyes fixed on him, so intense and serious and beautiful, Jihoon wants to do anything Seungcheol asks him, wants Seungcheol to do everything to him.

Seungcheol releases the grip on his hair, touches him gently, smoothing through his hair now, petting him like something cherished.

“Now, I have to go—something more important has just landed in my lap.”

The phone snaps shut and clatters to the desk, and then Seungcheol’s taking hold of both of Jihoon’s arms and hauling him up.

“Come here.”

Seungcheol has apparently reconsidered his earlier position on workplace sex because he’s bending Jihoon over the desk in the next moment and hooking his arm under Jihoon’s knee to lift it high.   

Papers and folder and a variety of shiny expensive looking pens scatter across the desk when Jihoon drops his hand to brace himself, followed by a glass paperweight tumbling over the edge with an alarming crack.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to care, too busy coating his fingers with saliva to notice.

 _Come on,_  Jihoon wants to say, but doesn’t; he tries to get control over his breathing but that idea dissolves when he feels one of Seungcheol’s thick fingers slide between his ass cheeks. Jihoon gasps and his eyes open wide when the tip of Seungcheol’s finger presses inside him, just a little.

His hands scrabble on the desk, wanting to hold something the way he can grab the sheets when they’re on a bed, but there’s nothing so Jihoon just curls his hands into fists.

Slowly, Seungcheol pushes his finger inside, and Jihoon whines at the feel of it, wanting more. Inch by inch Seungcheol pushes into Jihoon, before sliding out again and pushing back in.

“You little tease.” Seungcheol says, almost a purr, and his obvious pleasure at seeing Jihoon like this makes it all that much hotter. Jihoon feels wanted, feels gorgeous and sexy and all those other things Seungcheol says about him. “You’re unhinged you know that. Such a bad boy.”

“I said I was sorry.” Jihoon manages, his head and vision still full of glitter and sparks.

“Not good enough. Teasing Daddy like that when I told you to stop is unacceptable. I know just want you deserve." Seungcheol says, soft and dangerous.

It's a warning, all vibration and heat that leaves Jihoon shuddering and not protesting the slow push of another finger at all.

“Gonna fuck you open on all my fingers. See how far I can stretch you without your toys. And if you behave yourself, I might let you come. _Might_.” Seungcheol says, a lilting, teasing note in his voice.

“No Cheol—please.” Jihoon whines, clutching at Seungcheol’s hand. “Not your fingers—your dick.” He gasps.

Seungcheol’s movements falter briefly, "I—I don't keep condoms in the office."

Despite the audible evidence of arousal, there's a hint of genuine worry beneath the words.

"It’s okay, I'm clean," Jihoon retorts. "I’m--"

 _Irresponsible_ —downright fucking stupid? But he wants this. Wants Seungcheol bare and slick inside him.

“Please Cheol— _daddy_. I want you to come inside me.”

For one horrible moment, Jihoon imagines the next word from Seungcheol is going to be, "No," and then he’s going to have to—he doesn't even know. Something not good. Cry maybe?

Happily for everyone involved, the next word isn't a word at all, but the rough intake of breath. Seungcheol groans like a dying man and his whole body rocks forward, jostling Jihoon against the edge of the desk.

Seungcheol’s voice is ragged and low and rough and like sex when he says, “Oh fuck, _yes_.”

He pushes his fingers in deeper, hungry and impatient now that his hesitations have given way at last.

Three fingers, and Seungcheol's knee pushes against the side of his thigh. Jihoon wants to protest that he can't get his legs open any wider, but it turns out he can, and that's good, fuck that's good.

“Please, please Cheol. I’m ready. I want it.” Jihoon mewls.

Seungcheol decides that Jihoon's more than prepared enough, and the hand under his knee lifts off to slick and line up his cock.

Jihoon braces his hands flat on the desk and pushes back just a little, presses back against the familiar collection of heat and hardness and angles.

There's a tight little catch of breath and then Seungcheol's fingers slide free, replaced almost straight away by the blunt head of his cock. Then there’s just one long push without a pause that leaves Jihoon’s body curved over, helpless to do anything but feel it all.

Seungcheol pulls out so the thickest part of his cock is stretching Jihoon wide.

Jihoon groans through his teeth, hands sliding on the desk because the slow, silky slide _hurts_ , but it’s also good in way that he doesn't fucking care. Seungcheol’s cock feels so much  _better_ without anything marring the sensation, an intimacy Jihoon never expected.

When Seungcheol slams back in, Jihoon's lungs empty on a sharp cry at the vivid sensation, the stretch of reluctant muscle as Seungcheol slides in deeper. The discomfort is drowned out almost entirely by a frantic surge of pleasure, and Jihoon realizes distantly that he's begging, lost and shattered and pleading for more.

 “Oh Fuck, dumpling. You’re so perfect around my dick. So hot.”

Seungcheol sets a brutal rhythm. He curls his other hand around Jihoon’s waist. Both hands, better leverage with which to shove in deep, over and over again.

“Cheol—cheol— _ahh_ —yes!”

He’s rocking into him so hard the desk judders on the floor and something tips and goes clattering across the surface. Jihoon gasps around each sliver of retreat, lungs burning as he fights for every scrap of air before it’s pounded out of him.

Seungcheol’s open mouth is sliding up the warm curve of Jihoon’s throat on every sharp thrust, sucking kisses into the skin on the side of his neck that are bound to mark him up like crazy.

On the next thrust, Jihoon tilts his head just a little, the hard line of Seungcheol’s jaw a drag of sensation against his mouth.

Seungcheol's fingers tighten on his hips and he turns his head. Jihoon doesn't even stop to consider it, he tips his head up. There's no tentative beginning, no testing the waters. They're just kissing, open and aggressive and almost too warm.

Jihoon can barely breathe when Seungcheol finally breaks the kiss, lets go of his mouth to kiss and mark him elsewhere. That enormous hand curls under his knee again, shoving it up on the desk to fuck into him with a deeper, harder thrust.

Jihoon puts pressure on his hands and shoves back, urging Seungcheol on, meeting each thrust of his cock.

And it's so close, but it's not enough. Jihoon can't—he's so close and he  _can't_ —

" _Daddy_ ," he chokes, fingers twisting in silk tie still wrapped around his cock, trying to pull it free. "Daddy, please, I need—"

" _No_." Seungcheol jolts him against the desk with a thud, a particularly brutal thrust as he snarls the words right against the kiss-bruised skin of Jihoon's throat. "You will come like this or you won't come at all."

There's an avalanche of challenge and threat in the words even as he drags Jihoon’s slender waist harder against him, pins him all the more firmly to the desk.

Jihoon breathes a fractured sob into the air, watching his neglected cock bob obscenely with each drive from behind.

The edge is  _so fucking close_  now. Seungcheol's mouth is hot against his throat, not kissing him anymore, not coordinated enough. Just Seungcheol's breath across his skin, as ragged and unsteady as Jihoon's own efforts to draw enough air into his lungs.

Before he can beg again—and he's damn well  _going_  to beg, for more, for Seungcheol's hand, for anything to get him there—Seungcheol reaches around him.

For one, sweet instant Jihoon thinks the man has taken pity on him after all, is finally going to untie the bow, take him in hand and finish this. But Seungcheol does no such thing. Instead, Seungcheol grips the silky fabric where it’s tied, and pulls it taut.

The gesture lights sparks behind his eyes and along his nerves. Fucking  _fuck_ , leave it to Choi goddamn Seungcheol to know exactly how to touch him. 

Jihoon's words stop with a shudder and a choked-off cry, and he doesn't care for an instant.

Seungcheol's mouth is at his throat again, teeth digging into the sensitive skin beneath his jaw—biting just hard enough to sting—just hard enough to tell Jihoon who he belongs to.

Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_ , if he was close before, he's right at the edge now. Between the tight feel of silk on his dick, the sting of teeth at this throat, the cock spearing him open and brushing against his prostate—

The wave of sensation crests inside him, and Jihoon comes so hard he loses track of the world.

 

* * *

 

When the world gradually comes back into focus, the first thing Jihoon registers is the cool surface of the glass desk against his cheek. It’s fogging up with condensation on every exhale, and he can’t understand how it hasn’t cracked with the force of their coupling.

The second thing he notices is Seungcheol knelt behind him, spreading his butt cheeks apart with his thumbs and _licking_ into him.

He probably should complain, but he thinks he'll ride out the tiny shivers and see if he can stop making happy noises first.

When Seungcheol’s done eating him out, Jihoon gathers his shaky limbs and moves to stand straight.

He doesn’t get further than setting a foot on the ground because Seungcheol is lifting him up and dropping back into his chair.

Jihoon goes; the desk chair is black leather, and it creaks and shimmies and rolls back a little when Jihoon lands on Seungcheol’s lap, thighs splayed across Seungcheol’s hips.

He lay slumped against Seungcheol's chest, weak as a rag doll, probably drooling.

Seungcheol has his arms around Jihoon's shoulders, a hand in his hair, stroking. It takes Jihoon several long moments to decide he has the strength to lift his head, but it’s worth it to find Seungcheol smiling the softest, happiest smile Jihoon has ever seen.

“Hey,” he whispers. It’s kind of dumb but he really did feel like he was somewhere else for a minute; in orbit or deep underground, somewhere strange and unknown, scary and exciting.

“Hello Dumpling. You dyed your hair black—it suits you.” Seungcheol murmurs, pushing the hair back from Jihoon's forehead.

Jihoon closes his eyes and raises his head, just a little, into the touch.

When he opens them again, Seungcheol’s studying his face carefully, and though Jihoon has no idea what he is looking for, it’s a good opportunity to enjoy how pretty Seungcheol’s eyes are, and how long his lashes.

“Did I hurt you?” Seungcheol asks in a voice that might sound calm if it weren't for the rumble of unaccustomed gravel.

"Fuck, no" Jihoon breathes without delay, "No, that was awesome.” He says, and he knows he’s still spacey when he doesn’t even care that he can’t come up with a better description.

Seungcheol just chuckles, and Jihoon feels it as well as hears it, a deep, rumbling vibration in Seungcheol’s chest like a cat’s purr.

“I didn’t think you had it in you to be honest.” Jihoon adds after a moment.

Seungcheol cracks half a smile, trailing his fingers down Jihoon's throat. "Oh, Really?"

Jihoon blushes, swallows, isn't sure why  _now_  is the moment he suddenly feels self-conscious. "I imagined— Fantasized about you taking me like that. But you're always so…" He trails off, not sure if he should say it.

"What am I?" Seungcheol presses when he doesn't finish the thought.

"In control." Jihoon breathes, honest and lost. 

Seungcheol's expression clouds faintly. "I don't generally  _like_  to lose control. I don’t want to hurt you."

“But you didn’t. I liked it and—I think you liked it too.” He manages to keep his tone light even though his heart is a pulp of nervous feeling in his chest.

"Yeah. I did." The cloud cover is gradually passing from Seungcheol's brow, leaving something easier in its wake.

He splays a hand over the side of Jihoon’s face. His thumb curls into the soft place just under the point of Jihoon’s jaw and Jihoon’s mouth falls open helplessly.

When Seungcheol kisses him this time, it’s lush and wet and impossibly gently.

A different sort of exploration. This kiss carries a soft edge that doesn't fit with the anger that brought them here.

Some fucked up skittish instinct beneath Jihoon's skin wants to protest the unmistakable tenderness of the kiss, but he stubbornly tells that instinct to shut the fuck up and enjoy the moment.

It's a  _sweet_  moment, even if it is coming out of left field.

The kiss ends, and he finds Seungcheol staring at his mouth. A strangely tentative thumb traces over Jihoon's reddened and swollen lower lip.

“Gonna tell me off now? For interrupting you at work?” Jihoon asks him.

"No," Seungcheol concedes. He noses the fringe of Jihoon's hair along his nape and rubs a hand over his belly. "I'm not enough of a hypocrite to deny enjoying it."

“So, is that a no to the spanking? Or….” Jihoon trails off, pouting lightly. He is rewarded with Seungcheol’s hands sliding down to his ass and squeezing gently.

Seungcheol gives an almost-growl, deep and rumbling, as his nails dig into the soft skin of Jihoon’s ass.

“You’re fucking insatiable,” Seungcheol murmurs and Jihoon nods just as there is a sharp knock on the door

* * *

 

Jihoon quickly runs into the next room when they hear a knock on the door, which is no easy task, considering the wobble in his legs.

With him safely out of view, Seungcheol straightens up—buttons his shirt and tucks his cock back into his pants.

“Come in.” He calls out, sitting back in his chair and plastering on his serious expression, his work face.

The door creaks open and the night shift security guard pops his head in. “Sorry to disturb you Mr Choi.”

“No problem, what is it?” Seungcheol asks him, calm and unhurried.

The man shuffles into the room carefully. “I sent some kid up this way earlier, he was delivering pizza?”

“Yes, I got it.” Seungcheol answers in a flat voice, gesturing to the box on the table.

“Thing is,” The man hesitates, scratching the back of his head nervously. “I haven’t seen him come out yet. It’s been over an hour.”

Seungcheol scratches his chin. “Huh.”

“Yeah.” The guard says, gaze drifting to the armchair in front of Seungcheol’s desk. His eyes widen then and he flushes.

Seungcheol follows his gaze, noticing Jihoon’s oversized jacket still lying on display.

Seungcheol clears his throat. “Well—you better go fucking find him.”

“Ah—yes sir. Right away sir.” The security guard stammers, the flush on his face receding quickly. He glances at the jacket once more and shakes his head before leaving, as if to clear his mind.

Handy, that, how embarrassment makes people likelier not to overthink things, to ignore the little details that don't fit.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) That's the largest single chapter update I have ever written. I am very tired.  
> 2) Thanks to all those who suggested office smut. I hope it met your expectations.  
> 3) Apologies to all those who love the mullet. Jihoon is still precious mullet with or without, but....that mullet. oh god.  
> 4) Damn. I love business man Cheol, with slicked back hair. :)  
> 5) I hope you enjoyed this part of the series. Please let me know if you'd like to see anything in particular for the next few parts. Always open to ideas!  
> Thank you for reading.  
> Feedback appreciated.


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